The Curious Case of Rachel Berry
by We're A Two Shot
Summary: Set in the middle of "The First Time." When Santana and Brittany get word that Rachel's first time attempt with Finn has gone badly, they set out to make her feel better and teach her a few things. But along the way, Santana begins to have other plans
1. Liberation

**Author's Note:** It's been a minute since I've written anything but I can assure you I'm alive and well and working my way out of this hole of writer's block (or pure fucking laziness?) I've been in for so long. Gonna try to get the ball rolling again with something new to get the old cogs turning for my other story. SO, my brains been infected with some kind of disease. It's called Pezberry and it won't leave me alone and inspired this little piece here. It's Season three based but I've changed some things, for instance Sam came back way earlier than he did in the show, and there's no Shane for Mercedes in this timeline because I hate him. One more big thing obviously: Brittana are NOT a couple. They never got around to making it official as they did in Season three. In my head they still sleep together, they're just not together. So that clears that shit up. Hm, what else to say? This stories really about Rachel after, well I should say in the middle of "The First Time". It's right after her and Finn try to do it for the first time and she fucks it up by only wanting to do it for the West Side Story play. But it's in Santana's POV. This will be a multi chapter story eh maybe like 3 chapters long? I don't know. I just wanted to get this first out there so it wouldn't sit and collect stupid old dust. It's just fun, that's all its meant for. I wanted to write something kind of random and so I magically did. This is my first attempt at Pez, go easy on a girl. Enjoy guys!

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><p>Chapter 1. Liberation.<p>

We must have had the entirety of the lunch room's vending machine inventory on our table. There were half eaten bags of Doritos, a mess of M&Ms, an explosion of rainbow—fucking loved Skittles, and of course, Dots because Brittany promised to drop in later. It was a bit of an overkill but I could honestly say, Puck had outdid himself on the munchie food.

My eyes were honestly too droopy to properly glare at all the losers in the lunchroom shooting us shady looks but whatever. Like they've never toked a bit to get em through the day. My god it was bright in here.

"Dude," Puck groaned across the table. "You've been playing that same song for the past ten minutes now. Change it up a bit."

"I like playing 'Lucky'. It puts me in a good mood."

"Please. We all know this is your go to song when you're wallowing in self pity and swallowing every feeling in sight with that Gulf of Mexico orifice on your face."

Sam narrowed his eyes at me. "I've been over Quinn for months, Santana."

"Frankly, Jaws? I really don't care, but the Jason Mraz shit has gots to go. He's giving me a toothache."

"Yeah dude." Puck nodded. "I mean, how many love songs is this pussy gonna write?"

Sam gave us one good-natured eye roll and cracked a smile. He was all gums and pearly veneer. "What did you have in mind?"

"Just make it sing, white boy," I ordered and slipped a pair of aviators on over my face. Instant relief to the eyes. Much better.

Leaning back in my chair, I glanced up to where old wads of gum and water stains gave the cafeteria ceiling more character. McKinley was rich in history, or so I've heard. According to Shue, it was well respected at one point—pristine halls and a swelled budget to do just about anything. Well shit, if old William M. could see it now: Gleetards overflowing the auditorium, girls hooking up behind the bleachers (it's a good spot okay?), and trios smoking baby joints in the parking lot. We _were_ the character of this school.

Someone gasped.

"You saved my Dots!" I couldn't mistake that clear, bubbly voice.

"Nope. Mine." Puck leaned over and snatched the yellow box out of Brittany's reach.

A second later the Dots returned to their rightful place after I finished kicking the ever loving shit out of _someone's_ shin under the table.

"Jesus H. Christ. Do you _want_ me to be able to dance in the musical?" Puck hissed through his teeth.

"Put Asian Boy Wonder front and center and we can manage without you," I sweetly replied. "Hi, Britt." I delivered my most dazzling smile to her as she took a seat beside Puck.

"Hi," she shot back almost instantly, sounding a teensy bit out of breath too. "You look pretty today."

I beamed wider. Even Sam paused his rendition of Kanye West's 'Heartless' to laugh at me. Whatever.

Brittany looked exceptionally excited right now. Some ball of uncontainable energy had her bouncing in her chair. She was desperately trying to hold it back, smoothing out her features every few seconds.

"B, you're shaking like a porn star in church, what is it?"

"Okay," she breathed, exhilarated that someone had finally acknowledged her excitement, "So you're never going to guess what Rachel told us in celibacy club today."

Puck's frown wasn't lost on me. "Chicks still have those?"

"Scary, right?" Sam joked.

The three of us had tossed our purity rings in long ago, but Brittany still found herself attending meetings every now and then...and when I say that I mean when Rachel baked cookies.

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Do tell."

Sam set his guitar down, leaning in to hear more.

"She almost lost her V card to Finn last night."

"Almost?" We all fell into unison.

Brittany nodded vigorously. "I guess she hurt his feelings somehow and now they're not talking. I feel super bad."

"Ya know," Puck had that far away look in his eyes. Never a good sign. "I always thought it'd be me."

"Thank God it wasn't me." Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I could be sitting where Finn is right now had I not been so impervious to all the chap stick bribery." He smiled almost proudly.

"But you took her to prom," Puck remarked, watching Sam warily.

Bieber set out to correct him but I managed to get there first.

"Oh trust me. White Chocolate was too busy mixing his cream with Aretha's coffee to even notice Berry."

Sam flushed and pressed a hand to his forehead.

"It was almost me." Brittany's voice broke through clearer than anyone's. Everyone stared with their jaws practically detached and touching the table. It wasn't until she gauged our reaction that she spoke up. "She was always asking me to wear her clothes." Brittany shrugged. "Whenever Santana does that it means she wants to have a special sleepover."

Silence. And then came Puck's raucous laughter followed by Sam's deeply set chuckle. I joined in seconds later, partly relieved that everyone was too high to care but also basking in the light atmosphere Brittany always carried with her.

"I, I always thought..." the giggles kept coming, "I always thought Berry was asexual."

Brittany cocked her head. "A sexual what?" I heard the left side of the brain comprehended shit like this more clearly. Right now, Brittany was leaning towards the right.

"It means you're not interested in sex. Like, at all." I loved Sam's patience with her.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "But everybody likes sex."

"Just think of her as a broken faucet, Britt," I said.

"No matter how hard you try to turn her on, she just won't drip." Puck smiled to himself, clearly pleased at his expansion of my analogy. "That would explain_ a lot_, actually."

I scoffed at him. "Just because she didn't want _your _dick, doesn't mean she's incapable of having dick."

"Who _wouldn't _want my dick though?" he arrogantly questioned.

Sam raised a weary hand. Puck launched a chip at his face, which Sam caught easily in his large, bucket mouth. Beyond horrifying.

"Everyone wants my dick," Puck continued. "Hell, it's got it's own Facebook fan club."

"I think I liked something like that once," Brittany said thoughtfully.

Puck smirked at that. "A long time ago, I bet you did."

"Okay. I'm exceptionally close to ripping your balls off so I can replace those lame ass dice you bought me for my rear view," I told him.

"Guys, look." Sam's staid request had me fastening my eyes on what he was staring at.

Although Rachel's entrance was mostly disregarded by the rest of the lunch room, we were watching with hawk like intent. This was one of those rare days in which she dressed like any other 17-year-old girl. Vibrant little bow back dress wrapped around her body; hair loose and wavy down her back. She definitely wasn't an eye sore today.

"We should go say hi," Brittany suggested.

I slid my glasses down the bridge of my nose to get a better look. The table she sat at was bare, her only companion coming in the form of a salad bowl positioned directly in front of her. She hadn't taken one bite. I pushed the glasses back up.

"I think she wants to be alone," I stated offhandedly.

Brittany's shoulders dropped and she gave me a look that said she would go with or without me. I didn't want that, not at all.

"See you losers later. We're out," I told the boys.

They threw us two half assed waves and went back to stuffing their faces and playing with their wooden instruments.

The air was considerably gloomier at Rachel's table. A real fucking buzz kill, if you asked me.

"We come baring food," Brittany said as two bags of Cheetos softly dropped in front of the brunette.

I half expected her to word vomit all over us about vegans only eating soy cheese and how cows were exploited daily to create this shit, but judging by the way her shoulders sagged and her fork poked weakly at her salad, I knew we'd be having none of that. I almost wished she would. Anything was better than this Berry. This ghost of a girl we all loved to hate.

"Rach? How are you holding up?"

Brittany's tenderness couldn't have been more of a blessing here. I hadn't prepared any words for Frodo's identical twin. My best introduction probably would have come in the form of, "Dry your god damn eyes before I sober up and make you". What? Comfort wasn't my strong suit.

"I'm fine, Brittany. Thanks," Berry assured her with a smile.

The smile was a disconnected one. It gave off a hollowness she obviously didn't want to convey but the eyes never lie.

"Cut the shit, Berry."

I didn't bother to flinch when they proceeded to glare at me—well Brittany just shook her head, Rachel on the other hand, she looked as though she could have stabbed me in the chest with her fork. _Somebody_ had to say it. I reached casually across the table and helped myself to some Cheetos.

"Santana," Rachel calmly stated. "As much as I would love to indulge myself in another ridiculously inane argument with you, I'm afraid I do not have the time nor the patience." She took one easy breath and continued, "Now, would you be so kind to enlighten me of what _shit_ you are referring to?"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I'd never heard Rachel exceed curse words more impressionable than "hell." And she'd _never_ talked back to me this way. She often hunkered down and took the comments in stride. This defiance thrilled me. I lapped it up and had the nerve to ask for more.

"Santana told me about your broken faucet." I saw about three heads from a table of Jock's look up.

I should have been angry at Britt for repeating the conversation we had with the boys but then again the anger clouding Rachel's eyes was pure enjoyment for me. I smiled a little.

Rachel dropped her fork into her bowl. "My what?"

"Your faucet," Brittany repeated as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Santana and Puck said it was broken—that's why you and Finn never have sex."

Not even my sunglasses could deflect the heat coming off of Rachel's gaze. God damn, this anger thing. It was _delicious_.

"What we talk about in celibacy club is confidential, Brittany. I thought you understood that."

"She would have told me regardless, _hobbit_," I spit the nickname out_, _hoping that some of the acid in my tone would carry over. It did. She looked elegantly pissed. "So what the fuck really happened?"

"I don't understand you, Santana. You consistently insult me and still expect me to confide in you. I may be a number of things, but gullible is not one of them."

"I'm not saying you have to trust me, Berry. But Glee girl to Glee girl, I think I can help you."

She looked skeptical. "How so?"

"I can't tell you if you won't tell me what happened," I reasoned.

"Fine," she huffed. The action was truly unnecessary but expected. Her emotions were always so large and drawn out. A true fucking diva if there ever was one.

"It all started with Artie."

"Artie?" I quirked an eyebrow.

"You're cheating on Finn with Artie?" Five Cheerios at the table behind us glanced over. Brittany and her words.

"What? No, no, no. Just let me talk, okay?"

Brittany animatedly zipped her lips closed and tossed the imaginary key into my lap. This made Rachel and I both smile.

"According to Artie, I needed a sexual awakening..."

The biggest disadvantage of talking to Rachel was...well, allowing her to _talk_. She stole a good chunk of our lunch period describing her inner turmoil over her precious virginity and how it could pry her and Blaine's characters apart. Personally, I didn't see the problem. Two virgins could emulate sexual tension if they put the effort into it. It was comparable to having a beard and I'd had many of those. People never doubted how much ass my "boyfriends" got from me. They just knew.

"...So I invited Finn over for dinner," I caught Rachel saying. "Things went really well in the beginning. There were candles and sparkling cider. We listened to his hand picked playlist of—"

"Get to the macking, Berry."

"Right. Well, a little after dinner, I led him into the living room so we could watch the fire—"

"Irrelevant details. Gets to the bonin'."

"Am I telling the story or do you want to take over from here?" she asked testily. Her expression was passive but her eyes were fiercely affixed on me.

"Pretty sure I could map this whole thing out in under twelve seconds," I said, smirking a bit. The attitude she was giving made me want to press harder. There was just something about an angry Rachel...

"Do it," she challenged.

Okay.

I held her gaze as I began. "So you make out for a while. Finn, being the boy scout that he is, says he has protection. You, being...Berry, also have condoms in your purse. You're almost knee deep in the deed—or should I say, _he's_ almost knee deep—when you start flapping your gums and by then Finn's too flaccid to do anything but keep your thigh warm."

"Ten seconds," Brittany said, holding up her fingers.

Rachel huffed indignantly. "I wouldn't say that's _exactly_ how it happened but it's relatively accurate." She reached for her fork but mid way through the motion her hand dropped into her lap. "Was it normal for him to just leave though? As a guy whose potentially about to have...intercourse, would it really matter if I talked or not?"

"To be frank with you, the only time you should ever open your mouth during is to _receive_ something or make animal noises."

"It's true." Brittany nodded in agreement. "Santana likes it when I purr."

I frantically shook my head at Britt. Thankfully, Berry allowed the comment to pass without scrutiny. But it wasn't for my or Brittany's benefit. The girl was too preoccupied falling apart.

"I'm such an idiot," Rachel groaned, lowering her head into her hands. Seconds later, she looked up again. Her eyes were blown and threatening to overflow with tears. Jesus Christ. Mother Mary help us all. "What's _wrong_ with me?"

Everything. "Nothing, sweetie." Brittany was such a savior when it came to this.

She reached out to Berry, fit her hand over hers, and let all of the comfort soak through the skin.

"I should just wait. Waiting's honorable, right?" Rachel didn't bother addressing the question at me; we both knew the answer. "It was all too fast. I just need to slow down and _wait_."

"Virgins don't win nationals, Rachel." Brittany's voice was firm as she said this.

Rachel's expression only seemed to deepen in despair.

"Virgins don't win anything but a lifetime of blue balls," I added.

Now Rachel just scoffed. She knew better than to take Brittany's words to heart, but with me there confirming them, it only managed to piss her off.

"One's virtue has nothing to do with competition, Santana."

"True," I shrugged, "but the sooner you get laid, the sooner you stop dressing like my seventy year old grandma on her way to church."

"Santana said you wear knee socks to hide the chinchillas growing on your legs," Brittany said. Berry's eyes drew down to her ankles self consciously then snapped up to me. I feigned interest in a Wicca club poster on the far left wall of the lunch room. "Your legs look super hot right now."

"Thanks...I guess," Rachel replied with little conviction. "May I ask how my sex life became any of your business?"

"We're tired of you being the only virgin in Glee club." Brittany was on a roll today.

Rachel looked offended. "How are you so sure it's just me? Mercedes and I have a kinship for self sustaining our sex lives."

It annoyed me that I didn't instantly cringe at the image of Berry..._satisfying_ herself. Must be the dress...and the chinchilla-less legs. Whatever.

"'Fraid to say you're alone in that department, Berry. Wheezy's getting it in." I craned my neck around to look back at our table where Sam was slouched in his chair, counting his abs.

"Mike and Tina?" Rachel asked, a little too hopefully.

"Bruce Lee and his son do it like rabbits."

"You should come over to San's after school."

"What?" I didn't see the point in trying to hide how appalled I was. Berry seemed just as sick.

"We could go over some things." Brittany shrugged at me and then looked at Rachel. "Santana taught me everything I know."

"That's," Rachel gulped, "comforting."

My aviators covered the double eye roll I gave her. Brittany was probably on to something fun if she had proposed this. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind but it could work.

"Berry, my house isn't a fucking torture chamber. It's a two story on Beechwood Drive. The only brick on the block, can't miss it. We'll see you at eight."

I didn't even push my chair in as I left. She'd be there. I knew she would.

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><p>Brittany was sucking the ever loving shit out of my lemonade soaked fingers and it couldn't have been more of a turn on. Yum.<p>

Drink spiking went hand in hand with guests. I mean, sure inviting Rachel over was a doable and everything but not without a generous buzz. If I planned on listening to her cry about her failed asexual relationship with her sack of dough for a boyfriend, I'd need all the help I could get. I think strangling a person with her knee highs looks bad on your college applications.

"Taste," Brittany ordered, passing me a red plastic cup. Fingers would have been better but I guess this way was more practical.

I cleared my throat after one tentative sip.

"Britt, we're spiking it a little, not trying to have her pissing vodka for three days."

Brittany's face fell. "Too much?"

I drank some more and set the cup aside. "For Berry? Yes. Me? Fuck no. I could drink my Uncle Brucie under the table and his mom used to bottle feed him whiskey."

Brittany looked slightly alarmed but didn't say anything.

The doorbell chimed.

"You answer the door and I'll finish up in here."

Leaving her alone with the drinks made me uneasy because up until this point, Brittany's prided herself on getting a 'C' in Home Ec., even though she read her report card upside down.

But hey, Rachel would live if we phoned the paramedics fast enough, right?

I let my socks drag across the chilly floor as the front door came into view. It was one of those double doors with glass paneling over the top and on the sides; red, my father's favorite color. I didn't bother looking through the peephole. I threw the door open and what I saw truly amazed me. It was Rachel alright and she looked...good.

She'd traded those God awful penny loafers in for a pair of black flats to match her pea coat and skinny jeans. _Jeans. _Rachel Berry owned _jeans_? To top it off she wore this painfully adorable red beret with two braided pigtails underneath. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the breeze.

"Good evening, Santana." She smiled up at me with her greeting.

"Fifteen minutes early. You're a good listener, Berry," I said, tugging lightly on a braid. "This way."

I led her inside so we could stand in the foyer. Everyone loved the foyer. If the vastness of it didn't interest you enough then the illumination coming off the crystal chandelier above our heads would. I watched her twirl in place to look at everything from the Italian marble on the floor to annual family photos hanging on the walls. These were all my mother's choices, Daddy just wanted that door.

"Wow," Rachel breathed at last. Her eyes twinkled in the light.

"I know, right? Come on, let's go upstairs."

Gently, I tried to press her forward but she stalled.

"Where's Brittany?" Her eyes scanned the area.

"Kitchen. Let's go."

Rachel's vibrant expressions waned when we hit my bedroom. For one it was dark and not nearly as impressionable as my downstairs. There were no bedazzled objects to stare at or touch. This was not Berry territory, but for some reason, she took an interest anyway.

She slowly made her way around the room, examining each and every picture as though she would find something there; a window of my true character. I let her for a while.

"You were an adorable kid, Santana," she said after a minute.

"Is that your not so subtle way of telling me I'm not anymore?"

I glared at her from my bed, my hair loose around my shoulders and tickling the back of my neck. Rachel glanced up to offer me a smile. It was sly and unreadable. She didn't answer.

"I think you're smoking." Brittany's voice carried through as she entered the room, balancing three cups and our pitcher on a serving tray.

"Hello, Brittany." Rachel's posture relaxed considerably at the sight of the blonde. You would think she was almost relieved to have someone else in the room to talk to besides me. "I see you brought beverages," she noted.

"Fruity beverages." Brittany's eyes smiled along with her lips then suddenly flickered down to the tray, skeptical. "Lemons are fruit, right?"

"Yes, Brittany. Lemons are fruit because they carry seeds. They're citrus fruits."

Fuck's sake. We had a live Wikipedia over here.

Brittany set the tray on my desk and threw her arms around Rachel. I knew B was big on hugs but in this case, she was just big on Rachel, squeezing in all the right places. If Rachel noticed, she sure as hell didn't show it.

When they were finished, Rachel took a seat in my desk chair. Brittany passed around drinks and then settled on the edge of my bed with her own.

I watched Rachel with moon sized eyes as she took her first sip. Just the thought of drinking probably triggered that traumatic memory of Brittany hurling in her face during alcohol awareness week. But to my surprise, the sour face never came. Rachel smiled at her cup and hummed.

"That's _really_ good," she stated.

Brittany glanced at me, pride twinkling in her eyes.

"But assuming I know how this goes—and I most certainly know you two—I imagine you've tampered with my drink. Correct?"

I blinked hard at Rachel.

"Wow," Brittany breathed in wonder. "You're like, the alcohol whisperer or something."

I felt the entrance of a judgmental lecture coming on so I might have gotten a little defensive...

"Is this where you educate us on the dangers of gateway drugs and hand out pamphlets, Anal Annie? Cause if so I plan on lighting it up and using it as sage to cleanse my room of your disgusting woodland creature scent."

Rachel opened her mouth and closed it again until her lips were in a tight, contained line. Then she said, "I know you guys don't take Mr. Shue's drinking rules all that seriously—"

"Damn straight."

"—And since my party, I personally have experienced the way alcohol destroys our dignity for the sake of a less intimidating environment."

"Who cares? You're supposed to get a little weird after a few drinks."

"Santana cries during sex if she drinks too much tequila."

"_Brittany_."

"Sorry."

Rachel held up one patient finger, silencing the both of us. "However, it is also quite liberating."

"So..." I ventured cautiously, waiting for her verdict.

"So I am choosing to emancipate myself from the problems I have created with Finn," Rachel said. She took a big sip of her vodka lemonade for good measure.

Not gonna lie, I was sort of proud.

"I don't know what emancipate means but I still think you're hot."

In my presence—for the first time ever—I heard Berry laugh. Surprisingly, it wasn't as nasally as I thought it would be and far from homicidal inducing.

It was cute.

Fuck me, Rachel Berry's giggles were cute to me.

"So it's settled then." Berry pinned my gaze. I twitched an eyebrow. "Here's to liberating ourselves."

Hearing that, I knew two things for sure.

Sexually repressed Rachel would be the first to toast.

And the first to hit the floor.


	2. Stranger Than Fiction

**Author's Note:** Holy shit hi. I never thought I'd come back to this story after tons and tons of writer's block. I actually wrote the chapter below a loong time ago so that explains some of the old pop culture references. For some reason, I just never posted this. I guess I just wasn't happy with it? But I feel like stories like this are the most fun when I just let them...go? So, I recently found this chapter and finally felt like this should go out in the world. Two years later. Who knows if I'll ever return to this again (I probably will in another year when I randomly find it again). Anyways, enjoy?

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><p>Everything was totally chill at first.<p>

Jersey Shore helped us get our drink on to the _max_. If Mike flashed his abs? Take a drink. Get an eye full of Deena's tits? Take a drink. Every time you caught sight of Snooki's panties? Take a drink. _That_ by the way, was the fastest route to Boozeville, population: every fucking body. Bitch is the devil, I swear. But like, in a good way.

After a while, Berry suggested we turn down all the lights and watch that Streisand movie—you know the one, Funny Face or whatever the fuck. That didn't go too well.

"Berry, I swear to God. If that CD comes anywhere near my DVD player I will break it in half and use the jagged edges to shave your eyebrows off."

Britt decided on _Step Up 2 _which actually worked for a while.

"It's like—" Berry hiccupped, "it's like, West Side Story…meets a Missy Elliot video."

Brittany leaned forward on my bed, squinting at the TV. "That guy looks _just_ _like_ Mike Chang."

I stared at the screen, my cup empty and crumbled in my hand.

"Are these two gonna fuck or what?"

"Rachel stop rolling your eyes at Santana," Brittany said.

Berry spun around from her spot on the floor to gawk at her.

"How did you—"

"Drinking," Britt tapped her fingers over her cup, "gives me a seventh sense."

Berry cocked her head. "What's your sixth?"

"Being able to tell if Santana's wearing underwear or not."

My body went rigid and my cheeks warm.

Rachel's gaze volleyed between us.

"Don't even _think_ about it, Berry."

My eyes burned into her face, daring her to even fucking a—

"Well?"

Jesus Christ.

Brittany smiled. "Barely."

Okay, yeah. So that was true, and?

**XXx**

Eventually we settled on a Tarantino movie: Pulp Fiction. I didn't expect it to hold Rachel's attention much at all but by the time Uma Thurman and John Travolta were twisting, her eyes had glazed and were sweeping thoroughly over the screen.

She sat up after a minute and turned her body in towards me on the floor.

"I want that."

My eyes dropped away from the screen and slipped down to hers. Britts had unbraided her hair, leaving it in loosely untamed waves. I kind of liked it like that. It looked pretty.

"Want what?" I asked.

"What Mia has." She gestured to an incredibly high Uma doing an incredibly bad job at "The Twist".

I stopped. Was Rachel Berry asking me to get her high?

"Santana keeps her weed in the converse box under her bed," Brittany yawned from above, clearly reading my mind.

Rachel snapped her head up to my bed.

"_What? _No.I, I didn't mean that," she said. "I meant I want a Vincent Vega."

"Wait, who?" I asked, feeling slower than usual now that the vodka had claimed me. Booze goggles officially on.

Berry pointed to the screen now with Travolta in the bathroom. Oh right, Travolta. Of course. She'd paid attention to this movie after all.

"I want someone to do whatever I want with. It's his job to show her a good time. I want the Vincent to my Mia!"

Just then Uma's character, Mia, overdosed on screen. Berry was far too hyped to notice now though.

"Girls, this is our _last_ year together," Berry said. Her hands squeezed together in front of her as though the sheer pressure of it would somehow make us really believe what she was saying. "And frankly, I've missed so much of the high school experience what with handing out blankets to the homeless, volunteering at the local animal shelter, singing at nursing homes, and reading to underprivileged children in Lima Heights Adjacent despite their persistent threats to 'go upside my dome'. I just want one day, _one time_, where I can just do something without anyone telling me I can't."

Her eyes were closed, hands glued together like in a prayer. I roused her again with my foot.

"So? What'd you have in mind?"

"Oh..." Rachel bit her lip. "I don't know. There's so many things I haven't tried."

"Skinny dipping," came from the top of my bed.

A pleasant little rose color gradually formed over Berry's cheeks.

"I don't think I can."

"Come on, Rachel. You've got to get used to it eventually," Brittany pressed. "Being naked is like, the best thing ever. It's like wearing clothes but instead of having accessories like scarves and gloves, there's freckles and apple shaped birthmarks."

Rachel shook her head. I peeked over her to see the screen. Getaway taxis. Boxing. Hm. I turned back to what Rachel was saying. It's a full on argument between them now.

"I _am_ confident, Brittany. I wore a leather cat suit for Finn two years ago!"

"Rachel," Brittany said. "You wear a bathing suit in the showers after gym."

I snorted. "What is up with _that,_ Berry?"

She huffed and crossed her arms, stating in a lofty tone, "I'm very cautious about public hygiene areas. There is a vast amount of bacteria in those stalls. Not to mention dead skin, oils, nasal secretion—"

"Talk less, drink more."

I shoved my drink at her and watched with mild horror as she took three large gulps that should have been humanely impossible for a girl her size. The cup was tossed back to me, completely drained.

And this is how I knew things were about to go to hell. Rachel Berry, President of the Celibacy club, Student Body President Candidate, and Glee captain..._burped._

"I'll do it," she finally said. "But only up to my under—" hiccup, "—garments."

Brittany's face brightened. "That'll do. Let's go."

The blonde bounded off the bed and pulled the brunette up with her. It surprised me that I hadn't had any say in this entire matter. Maybe I didn't care? Maybe I didn't mind? Alls I know is that it took Berry to get downstairs to finally start looking concerned.

"Isn't it like, fifty degrees outside?"

"Two words," Brittany said. "Heated."

I sighed and pretended I hadn't heard her say that.

**xXx**

My first priority was getting the fire pit inside of the gazebo by the pool going. I wasn't about to freeze to death while trying to be Berry's Vincent Vega. _Was_ I her Vega? I don't know. Maybe Britts and I both were.

I took advantage of this opportunity because it's not everyday Berry removes the stick up her ass and decides to do something spontaneous let alone possibly sexual if the situation ever called for it. _I_ wasn't calling for it, if that's what you're thinking.

Britts had no problem stripping down. She left her clothes in a pile on the couch inside the gazebo. Her Thundercats underwear were the cutest thing about her ensemble and I swear, even Berry looked to get a view of those awesome back muscles.

I pulled my tank over my head and dropped it next to Britt's clothes. Shorts followed and soon I was bare footing it to the deck of the pool, hoping like hell one of my creepy ass neighbors wouldn't get too curious.

Brittany, already chin deep in the pool, beckoned me with her fingers. Her eyes were darker than they usually are sober. It excited me for a number of reasons.

I took to the middle of the pool and slid my body all the way in. Fan-fucking-tastic in comparison to the cold. Britts arms were on me in record time pulling me out into the center. Berry stood by on the edge, looking ever skittish.

"Show us what you're working with, Berry," I said with a smirk on my lips.

"It's just us, Rachel. No one else is going to see you," Brittany assured, and then leaned into my ear, "no cameras this time, right?"

"Why the hell would I upload pictures?" I whispered to her as she kicked for the both of us. "The only person that would crank over them is Jew Fr..."

Whoa.

If it wasn't for Britt holding me, I would have gone under for sure.

"Damn," Britts and I said at once.

I looked at her, she looked at me. We looked at Rachel.

It was simple really, predictable even. White cotton: typical Berry. But what laid underneath that white cotton made my temperature crawl and spread through the water around us.

The cleavage, the valley, the everything of her chest looked amazing. Her skin tone was even throughout and so, _so_ smooth. But it wasn't over. Her fingers flitted to the button of her jeans. _Pop_, _zip, shuffle. _

Skin. Bare thighs. The tautness was there. And skin. Beautifully unblemished skin. Virginal.

Berry's eyes were shut the entire time and now she stood stock still, hands at her sides, biting her lip before us.

It was matchable to a sheep tripping into a lion's field of vision. It was game over. And I knew exactly what _I_ wanted to do before _I_ graduated.

"How am I doing so far?" Rachel's voice shook as well as her body.

"Awesome. Get in. Your nipples are saying hi to me," Brittany said.

Rachel blushed so red you'd have thought she swallowed a Christmas tree light. She followed her feet toward the pool in a slight waver. A rod of panic hit me at the sight. She didn't look well enough to swim.

"Slow down there, Berry."

I swam to the 4th feet where she'd managed to put her legs in.

"You should probably keep close to the edge. I don't want you to drown," I told her honestly. "My dad says if he has to pay out of the nose for one more freak party accident, he's not paying my car note, so..." I shrugged.

Berry waved me off and slid down into the water. I didn't miss her white knuckled grip on the edge though. I actually kind of worried. As much of a bitch that I am, I didn't want her to hurt herself. Especially not now. That would be a waste of a perfectly good set of tits.

It didn't matter though because a second later, Berry took it upon herself to cling to my back like a fucking koala bear.

"Rachel..." I rasped out, "let...go a little. You're...choking..."

"Ohmygod I'm so sorry!"

She loosened her grip and kept her hands on my shoulders.

"_Christ_, Berry. I try to go all Baywatch for you and this is what I get?"

"I'm sorry," she went on.

"_Stop._ Apologizing. I'm kidding."

"Are my hands okay?" Her breath cooled the back of my neck.

I cocked an eyebrow. "A little lower, you're still kind of hurting me."

Her hands moved down past the front of my shoulders.

"Lower."

"Sometimes I don't realize my own strength. I do about an hour of kickboxing after school every da—"

"_Lower._"

She did as instructed. And gasped.

"_Stop_ _that_," she scolded me as I laughed. "Anymore of those antics and I will be forced to find a new Baywatch partner."

"Berry I don't think you understand the full gist of your situation," I said. The water grew deeper. "This here's the Titanic. I go down, you go down."

I rocked backwards until I heard her squeal. There was nothing for her to do but hold on tighter.

"Don't you _dare_ dunk me, Santana Lopez!"

"Who wants to play Marco Polo?" Brittany casually floated by on her back.

"I think that's sort of out of the question with the ninety pounds of dead weight clinging to my back," I said dryly.

"You just don't want to _lose_."

I twisted my head to the side to view Berry's face. "Excuse me?"

"Meet me in the fourth feet." Her tone was serious.

She untangled herself from me and backstroked away, going under a few times but nothing to actually worry about.

"How the hell are we supposed to play this in such a small body of water?" I asked Britt.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Wanna make out while she's calling us?"

I thought about it.

"Why the hell not?"

**xXx**

Marco Polo didn't go as planned. Brittany kept replacing "Polo" with her real name followed by "bitch". Booze Berry nearly drowned when she wandered into five feet and I simply slipped out of the pool while her eyes were still closed to get more drinks. After Berry realized this, she gave up and swam to shore for a drink that she took back into the pool with her and Brittany.

I watched a splash fight break out between the two of them. While Berry rocked out small and harmless waves, Brittany's emulated little typhoons that made Berry sputter water. After each attack, she'd peer inside of her cup to be sure it hadn't been compromised, and then drink a little faster to make sure it never did.

Berry swam over to where I sat on the edge.

"Heyyy girlfriend," she drawled, peering up at me with blown eyes.

"You are so fucked," I laughed but it quickly died off into something more serious. My eyes ran down her wet body. I took a sip of my drink.

"You know what's weird?" she asked. Her gaze reached the sky. I looked up there too, found nothing but a swimming pool of constellations, and looked back down. Water clung to her breasts and trickled all the way down.

"What?" I asked, not really asking.

Her eyes shifted back down to mine. "I haven't thought of Finn all night."

My eyebrows raised. "Is that so?"

Rachel's dimples showed when she smiled. "It's so."

I smiled back. Beyond her, Brittany was practicing her crip walk in the three feet. I smiled at that too.

Rachel moved in closer to my submerged legs and wrapped her arms around them for support.

My hand reached out at its own accord to push heavy hair back behind her shoulder. I let my fingers linger in a loose hold on her neck.

"Berry?"

She tilted her head.

"Santana?"

"Next time you come here, I want real skinny dipping. You hear me?"

And before she could answer, Rachel wrenched herself up onto the deck and puked.

Well isn't that cute.

**xXx**

We all sat around the fire pit, clothed, throws draping our shoulders, and cups of _water _in our hands. Brittany stroked Rachel's back in small circles.

"Your hair looks like Hermione Granger's before they allowed flat irons at Hogwarts."

Rachel's hands flew up self-consciously to her curls.

I laughed.

Rachel fixed me with a hot glare.

"Oh don't go getting all shy on us now, Dorothy. We've gotten further with you than Finn Hudson has ever dreamed of."

Rachel scoffed.

"That's not true."

"Oh really?" I quirked an eyebrow and sat a little straighter. "Tell me then, Rachel. How far have you gone?"

She squirmed next to Brittany on the couch, eyes shifting around the gazebo to the floor, her feet, and back to me.

"It's really none of your business," she said, chin slightly lifted to emphasize this superiority she assumed she so rightfully had. It was things like that that got her slushied in the first place.

"Half Pint. You're sitting here half naked in my backyard. I think I'm more than a _little_ inclined to make this my business."

The hostility deflated a little. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched the blue flames climbing out of the fire pit.

"Look Berry. Alls I'm sayin' is that for a body," I cleared my throat, "like yours, a lot should be going on." She didn't appear to be listening well. "I mean, you've only been with like three guys and I'm pretty sure Jesse St. Ass Goblin is flaming so—"

"He is not!" Water sloshed out of her cup with the motion of her hand.

"Simmer down, Jewbacca. It was just an observation."

Rachel hunched her shoulders and huffed. She stared moodily into the fire again.

"Do you guys know anything about me other than what you've made up or heard?" Rachel's gazed shifted between us.

Brittany appeared pensive and then, "Not really."

"Great," she mumbled.

"Let's play the truth game then. Everyone has to tell something they've never told anyone before."

"I don't like this game," I said immediately. Knowing Brittany, she'd say something exceptionally embarrassing about _me_. "You can only talk about yourself."

"Okay," Rachel agreed, nodding slowly. "But only if I'm allowed more lemonade."

"_Fuck_ no. Do you see that puke over there?" I pointed to the deck. "Our maid, Consuela, is going to have to come tomorrow and clean that up. I've just now built a rapport with her because I found out she's not the one stealing the maxi dresses out of my closet. She's going to be pissed."

Brittany lifted a finger. "That was me."

I rolled my eyes. "I figured."

"I promise I'll be good. Please?"

A pink pouted lip and big brown eyes brought me to my feet.

"Fine, whatever."

I left the gazebo and paused by the deck to pick up a stray cup when I heard Brittany.

"So is your sink really broken or what because I think Santana wants to—"

"Hey Britt?" I called innocently. "Would you mind helping me in the kitchen?"

"Sure thing, Santana!" she called back to me and then I heard her voice drop to say, "Santana's a really good plumber."

**xXx**

"Okay this one's pretty serious guys."

Brittany and I leaned forward, hanging off of Berry's every word.

"I used to…I used to be in love with Mr. Shue."

"_That's_ your truth?"

"Rachel we've known that for like, years. Isn't that a lock of his hair in your locker? I've seen it," Brittany said. She glanced at me and back to Rachel, "not that me and Santana have broken into your locker before."

Rachel stared between us with a hand over her heart and mouth agape. "Do you understand how long I've tortured myself with that secret? That was _huge_."

I shook my head continuously. "Fucking. Irrelevant."

"You look thirsty. Have another drink." Britt refilled her cup with more vodka lemonade.

"I'm not fluent in Spanish," I said. Berry looked at me with lifted brows. "Most of what I know comes from watching Go Diego Go with my cousins, rewinding Pitbull songs and listening to my Abuela curse out my dad."

Berry nodded to herself. "I noticed your accents were a little off at times."

I cut my eyes at her. "Just shut up and go, Gayberry."

She tucked her knees to her chest and mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" I asked.

She glanced at me briefly then stared at her drink.

"I said I've Google mapped Barbra Streisand's house and had Jacob photo shop my picture into her front yard," she said. "I…I keep the picture in my pillowcase."

"What's JBI getting out of it?" Britt asked.

Berry cleared her throat and looked towards the pool. "I'd…I'd rather not say."

I bit my lip to keep a chuckle in.

"So…last year I stole Coach Beiste's underwear and tried to make a banana hammock out of them," Britt said in a rush. "It didn't work though. I still need one more pair."

Berry and I glanced at each other blankly then turned our attention back to Britt.

"That's, that's very resourceful of you, Brittany."

"Totally, Britt Britt. Good job."

"Thanks guys," Brittany said with a grin. "The hunt continues."

I broke out into a smile when she started fist pumping the air.

"I have another truth," Berry spoke up. She appeared smaller than normal under the throw I provided her. More vulnerable. "I'm…tired. Tired of always tip toeing around Finn's feelings."

No one said anything. I don't think Berry expected us to.

"I'm just so…_angry_, I guess," she said. "I mean, here I am, offering something as special as my _virginity—_something that I'll _never_ get back_—_and he has nerve to be offended by my, my _reasons_?"

She dragged a finger under each eye and shook her head.

"Call him, Berry," the words came out faster than I could think them.

"For what?" she asked. "To tell him how much of an asshole he is? God that felt good." She laughed. "I never really get to curse much in my house. My dads, they have a curse jar."

"My parents tried that once," I said. "Just once."

"What happened?" she asked.

"I broke into it and bought me a new pair of shoes."

I smiled at her until she laughed. That warm, happy to be here, kind of laugh.

"_Fuck it_," she said and then giggled. "I'm going to call Finn and I'm going to tell him he's an asshole."

Berry pulled her phone from her jeans and scrolled it. She took a swig of her drink and pressed the dial button.

We waited. A lot.

"Hey," Rachel started softly into the phone but when I made eye contact with her she remembered why she had called. "No, just let me talk, okay? I'm upset with you and how you've treated this whole thing." She looked to me and back down to fire pit. "You were extremely insensitive. I trusted you with everything, Finn and you completely just embarrassed me. You're—I think you're being a complete asshole in this situation. That's all I had to say."

A long pause occurred and then—

"Rachel, are you drunk?"

What the—

"Mike?" Everyone said at the same time.

"Santana? Brittany? Is that you?"

"Michael, Finn's not with you, is he?" Berry asked into the phone.

"…No? Should he be?" he replied.

Rachel put her head in her hands. "Mike, I am so sorry. Oh and I just wanted to applaud you for your new found vocal talent in glee club. Perhaps we could find time to schedule a little duet practice, if Tina allows it in glee club, of course."

"Tina's still in glee club?" Brittany asked me.

"Actually, what are your plans for this evening, Michael? Would Tina kill you if you made your way over to Santana's house? Two members of the Troubletones have kidnapped me and I am in dire need of some New Directions support."

"Uh, sure. I can be there. Next 30 minutes, okay?"

"B.Y.O.B., Asian F. No booze, no entry."

"I'll figure something out, Santana."

"Bye, Mike! Brittany said into the phone.

Britt and I both looked at Rachel.

"What? It's a well-rounded circle now," Berry replied.

Just what we all fucking need.


End file.
